


The Last to Know

by enoughtotemptme



Series: BellarkeFicWeek [8]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, F/M, Fluff, Grounder Culture, Pregnancy, Pregnant!Clarke, Solstice Festival, Vague Optimistic Future, Wedding/Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 10:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3406850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enoughtotemptme/pseuds/enoughtotemptme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy has a proposal for Clarke, but it turns out he’s a little too late.</p>
<p>BellarkeFicWeek 2015 Prompt: Day 08 Wedding AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last to Know

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! You can absolutely read this on its own if you'd like, but it would make the most sense if you have read at least Day 07 as well, which sets up the events for this fic. Enjoy!

When Clarke’s eyes flutter open in the morning on the day they’re set to leave for TonDC, Bellamy’s doing that creepy thing he’s started over the last couple months. He’s lying on his side, one hand propping up his head and the other resting on her stomach, thumb stroking over the belly button that’s just recently started to pop out. (Bellamy is strangely delighted about it, the weirdo.)

The creepy part is the way he’s staring intently at her midsection. She’s caught him at it more times than she can count with her hands, toes, and limbs, and she’s caught him because he never checks to see if she’s woken up yet––he just gazes at her belly nonstop.

“ _Bellamy_ ,” Clarke groans sleepily.

He starts a little and looks at her sheepishly. “Hey,” he says. He leans forward and presses a slow, sweet kiss to her mouth. Clarke smiles as he pulls back.

“You were doing it again,” she teases. He shrugs.

She closes her eyes again, focuses on the movements of his thumb still stroking soothing circles, of their baby fluttering in her womb.

* * *

Clarke had dropped a bin full of sterilized bandages the first time she ever felt it, her eyes wide with wonder as she brought her hands to her belly. Startled by the clang of the fallen bin, Harper had taken one look at Clarke and misread the surprise as fear. She had gone immediately gone tearing out of the medbay, screaming for Bellamy, while Clarke sighed and dropped her hands. Baby moving or not, the bandages weren’t going to pick themselves up, so she awkwardly knelt to the ground to start picking up the fallen supplies.

Faster than she imagined was possible, Bellamy had skidded through the medbay doors, his eyes wild. His expression only grew more horrified when he saw her on the floor.

“ _Clarke_ ,” he had croaked out, throwing himself to the ground next to her, his hands skimming over her face, her arms, her stomach.

She had to repeat his name several times and only after she caught his hands in hers did he finally stop, suck in a shuddering breath, and _look_ at her.

“I’m fine,” she soothed, letting one hand go so she could stroke his face. When he leaned into her touch, she said again, “I’m fine, Bellamy. I’m fine.”

“Nothing’s wrong?” he had asked. “You’re sure?”

“I’m _sure_ ,” she told him and leaned forward to kiss him firmly. “Everything’s good.”

“Harper said–” Bellamy’s voice cracked a little, and he cleared his throat before continuing. “She said something was wrong with the baby.”

Clarke sighed and motioned for him to stand; once he did, she held out her hands and he helped pull her to her feet.

“Harper got confused,” Clarke had said as Bellamy picked up the bin for her. “The baby’s fine. I felt it move.”

Bellamy’s face had gone blank, but thankfully he had the presence of mind to set the bandages on the supply table. His hands had gone straight to her stomach. Luckily for him, he was one of the few who could touch her there without getting their ass handed to them (the rest of the camp had quickly learned that Clarke’s burgeoning belly was _not_ an invitation to feel).

As his palms had warmed her skin, Clarke laid her hands over the tops of his. There it was again, a little trembling deep within her womb as their baby turned. Bellamy’s expression hadn’t changed, and Clarke had reluctantly told him that he probably wouldn’t be able to feel it on his end for at least a few more weeks.

He had cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said, “I remember that about Octavia.” He glanced down, then back at her. “You’ll tell me when?” he had asked. “When I can feel it from the outside?”

“You’ll be the first to know,” she had promised.

* * *

That was when the creepy staring thing had started in earnest.

Okay, so creepy probably isn’t the right word for it––Clarke doesn’t really _mind,_ and it’s actually pretty sweet to see Bellamy so entranced by their unborn child––but before she felt the baby move, he had only ever slept cuddled up close to her back, his palms cupping the growing curve, and she usually woke up before him. Now, though, he’s awake and watching and stroking almost every morning when she wakes, and though he doesn’t admit _why_ , she’s noticed the way he watches her so intently when she rubs a hand over where their baby is moving.

“It’ll happen soon, Bell,” she says into the morning quiet. He hums and shifts so that his head is resting next to hers on her pillow. They lie there for a few peaceful minutes before Bellamy opens his mouth.

“Do you think we should get married?”

Clarke’s eyes fly open of their own accord and she turns to stare at Bellamy.

“What?” she says.

He’s looking at her with a pensive expression and his hand has never stopped. “Well. We’re having a baby,” he says as if that’s an explanation for his question.

“Yeah, Bellamy, I’m aware of that.” Clarke frowns at him. “But we don’t need to be married to do that. Clearly,” she adds, gesturing at her belly.

“I just thought, maybe, you might want to. We could go to Camp Jaha. Kane would probably do it for us,” he says, then adds, “Your parents were married.”

“Yours weren’t,” Clarke points out, and then wants to curse herself when his hand stills and his eyes shutter. “I’m sorry,” Clarke says quickly. “Bellamy, I didn’t mean it badly; I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

Bellamy gives her a half smile and his thumb glides over her navel again. “S’alright, Clarke,” he says gently, but she knows that he would have called her _princess_ in that moment if he really meant it.

They’re quiet for a moment.

“I just–” Clarke says hesitantly, and he looks at her. “I just don’t need to be married like they were. My parents’ marriage––it was nice, I guess, but then my mom chose the Ark, and my dad was gone.”

“I never liked the Ark’s marriage ceremony anyway,” Bellamy says eventually. “It’s too, I don’t know. Official. All that crap about it being a civil union for the maintenance of the human race.”

“They barely even talked about love,” Clarke agrees. “It always sounded more like a business transaction.”

Bellamy turns and presses a kiss to her bare shoulder. “We don’t have that problem.”

“Really?” Clarke asks mischievously. “I mean, for me this is _all_ business, so I––” Bellamy cuts off her teasing with a hot kiss, distracting her, and then his hand stops soothing and starts tickling. Clarke squeaks against his lips and breaks away, laughing, while his fingers dance over her sensitive skin.

“Stop!” she gasps between giggles. “Stop, okay, I love you, just _stop!_ ”

With a satisfied grin, Bellamy pulls his hand away. “That’s what I thought,” he says smugly, and Clarke aims a smack at his shoulder.

“Hey!” he yelps.

She crosses her arms and glares up at him. His grin turns into a brilliant smile and he ducks to place a series of sweet, slow kisses on her pouting mouth. “I love you back,” he says in between kisses.

And then he scoots farther down and places a gently kiss where his hand had rested earlier. “And I love you, too,” he whispers, and Clarke’s heart is full to bursting.

* * *

As soon as breakfast is over that day, Clarke, Bellamy, and a massive accompaniment from their camp head out for TonDC. This summer’s less busy than the last, all of the truly important building and stockpiling done a long time ago, and they have been able to accept the _Trigedakru_ ’s invitation to their summer solstice festival.

It’s an easy walk, though the weather is warm, because a certain someone _insists_ that they all travel at a moderate pace and take evenly spaced breaks so that Clarke can rest. Clarke rolls her eyes at Bellamy and Octavia teases him mercilessly, but nobody complains. Monty and Jasper play cutthroat rounds of tic tac toe in the dirt during the breaks, and Raven and Wick are always absent, only to return conspicuously mussed when it’s time to start moving again.

Lexa is present to greet them, flanked by Nyko and Indra, when their group arrives at the village near midday. Nyko’s eyes dart to Clarke’s midsection and an amused smile crosses his lips.

Lexa and Indra take in the sight in a similar manner, though Indra’s expression is more of a smirk than a smile.

Both Clarke and Bellamy are puzzled when the commander’s first response to Clarke’s swollen belly is to congratulate the two of them on their marriage.

“Oh,” Clarke replies awkwardly, aware that she must look a little wide-eyed and frazzled. “Well, we––”

“Thank you,” Bellamy interrupts, slipping his arm around Clarke’s waist and settling his warm palm on the gentle curve. “We thank you, commander.”

Lexa nods regally in response, then gestures for the rest of the Sky People to make their way into the village.

Thankfully it’s warm enough to camp under the stars, because there’s no building available in TonDC that’s big enough to house them all that night. Bellamy constructs their tent quickly while Clarke looks on grumpily; _honestly,_ she could at least hand him the tent stakes before he hammers them into the ground, but _no._ Even that’s apparently too much for her to do.

Logically, Clarke knows that Bellamy is overprotective about silly small things like tent-building because he doesn’t fight her on the things that are truly important to her. He doesn’t interfere when she’s needed for hours at a time in the medbay, or when she’s conferring with Monty until well after dark about his ideas for a hydroponic system for growing winter crops.

All of the things she _needs_ to do, the things she can’t and _won’t_ give up doing just because of her condition, he doesn’t breathe a word about. Instead he brings her a plate of food and a kiss if she can’t get away from her duties to eat, or he’ll drape a blanket around her when it starts getting cold and she’s too engrossed in debate to notice.

As soon as all of their people are settled, Clarke drags Bellamy with her to find Lincoln and Octavia. They’re both speaking with Indra near the center of the village, and when the warrior notices their approach she waves at the nearby tables that are heaped with food and drink.

“Eat,” she says, but the command seems mostly directed at Clarke.

“Oh,” Clarke replies, caught off guard. “Um, thanks, Indra.” The woman nods in response.

“Lincoln, Octavia,” Bellamy says from behind Clarke. “Remind us which one is that boar dish that Clarke loved so much at the winter solstice?”

Lincoln eyes them but nods, and he and Octavia lead the way once they’ve said farewell to Indra.

“What is it?” Octavia asks once they’ve reached the feast tables and are out of Indra’s earshot. When Clarke raises a brow, Octavia sighs. “Bellamy was the one who loved the boar, and there’s no way my brother would forget which dish it is,” Octavia says wryly.

Bellamy clears his throat. “ _Anyway,_ did you hear Lexa when we came in?”

Octavia and Lincoln look at each other. “Yes,” Octavia says slowly, her tone questioning. “And?”

“And?” Bellamy repeats incredulously. “ _And_ why does she think we’re married?”

Lincoln’s brow furrows but Octavia starts to laugh at her brother’s indignant expression.

“Because you _are,_ you moron!”

“Wait, what?” Clarke interjects. “I don’t remember this.”

Octavia’s too busy laughing to speak, so she waves at Lincoln to answer.

“According to our tradition, the two of you _are_ married,” he explains patiently. “Marriages are private commitments between two people. Often the pair will tattoo each other with a matching design to indicate the wedding has occurred, but other indications will do equally well to show that you and your chosen have wed.” Here he holds up Octavia’s hand in his, and Clarke sees the familiar intricate design on each of their arms; with his free hand, Lincoln gestures to Clarke’s belly.

“Oh,” Clarke says lamely. “That’s...nice.” Her words are feeble but as they leave her lips Clarke realizes that she means them. That _Trikru_ weddings are private, and marriages are first and foremost a chosen commitment, and babies are a result of their love, a symbol of their marriage, not a reason for it. Just that makes it so different from the marriages she had known on the Ark.

“What happens if a woman gets pregnant and she doesn’t have a, um, chosen?” Clarke asks suddenly. Bellamy moves so that he’s holding the swell in his hands, and hers come up to rest on his.

Lincoln shrugs. “Then our people help care for her if she needs it.” Looking at Bellamy’s possessive stance, the man adds dryly, “But it’s clear to anyone with eyes that you’re not lacking a chosen.”

(Clarke can’t see Bellamy but she _knows_ he’s got that smug look on his face.)

“Looks like my proposal came a little too late, princess,” Bellamy says. “You’re already stuck with me.”

The baby in her womb kicks enthusiastically as if in agreement, and Bellamy’s fingers flex. “Clarke?” his voice is stunned and he presses more firmly against her stomach.

They’re both utterly distracted, barely even registering a now-calm Octavia’s interjection that, actually, just because they’re married doesn’t mean Clarke can’t get rid of Bellamy whenever she wants if she thinks he’s not fulfilling his promises as her chosen––

The baby kicks out again and with a sound that makes Clarke’s heart feel like it skipped a beat (is that healthy? she wonders dazedly), Bellamy ducks forward, burying his face in her neck. He’s holding his lips to her skin and she feels the tiniest hint of dampness, but when he raises his head and she turns to look at him, he’s brighter than the summer sun.

Octavia’s still talking, but Bellamy reaches out and snags his sister’s wrist, dragging it to Clarke’s stomach.

“Bell–” Octavia complains, but she stops abruptly when she feels the tiny push against her palm. Clarke sighs but smiles, her vision blurring just a bit as her stupid hormones make her eyes well up.

“Here,” Clarke says to Lincoln, gesturing to her stomach. “You might as well feel, too.”

Lincoln looks to Bellamy, who shrugs with a grin, so he cautiously places his hand where Octavia shows him. The quiet pleasure that blooms on his face, the beaming smile on Octavia’s, the warmth of Bellamy at her side, the baby moving in her womb––being surrounded by the family she has chosen––all of these things send the tears spilling over onto her cheeks.

“Hey,” Bellamy says, his voice gentle as he turns her to face him. “None of that.”

“I’m fine,” she insists, wiping at her face. “Fine.”

She gives him a watery smile and is about to say something else, but then Miller calls out in a concerned tone. “Hey, is Clarke okay?”

“She’s fine,” Bellamy says, and then, like the idiot he is, announces for the whole village to hear that he felt their baby move. Clarke sighs.

In seconds, it seems like every Sky Person that came to the solstice is crowded around her, and Lincoln and Octavia are watching in amusement from where they’ve been pushed back. All of their people mostly know better than to just touch her, but they’re all clamoring for a chance to feel.

“Alright, alright,” Bellamy calls loudly, and they all quiet down. Clarke’s arms are crossed and she’s frowning at him, and for once he can’t seem to tell that she’s hiding a smile. “Clarke’ll let you know when it’s okay to feel. Until then, back off from my wife.”

She rolls her eyes at his self-satisfied smirk but leans into him when Bellamy slips an arm around her shoulders.

“They’re _married_?” she hears Fox hiss to Monroe as everyone is sighing and drifting away into the celebrating masses.

“ _Obviously,_ ” the other girl responds. “Where have _you_ been?”

It seems she and Bellamy were the last to know, but somehow Clarke doesn’t mind.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the eighth in a series of oneshots based on b-ellamyblakes tumblr prompts for BellarkeFicWeek 2015. They're set in the canon universe, but they were written pre-Rubicon and they're going to stay that way.
> 
> Just a reminder, the series of oneshots are connected stories, so if you're interested in reading more about this particular Bellamy and Clarke, go ahead and check those out!
> 
> This fic marks the end of BellarkeFicWeek prompts, so I won't be coming out with a new piece daily, but it's highly likely that I'll add a fic here and there to this universe in the future, so keep an eye out! Thanks for reading!


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